


Bones

by silverneko9lives0



Category: Supernatural, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 17:13:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/942485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Hobbit Kink Meme</p><p>“I really want a fic where Thorin actually does throw Bilbo off the wall and he dies. But after the battle, (all the Dwarves live) when they start rebuilding, weird things start happening and they keep seeing Bilbo. Whether he is confused and upset (doesn’t know he’s dead), or a crazy dangerous vengeful spirit is up to the filler.” </p><p>You see…I’m a Supernatural fan-girl…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bones

Thorin had ventured far, but never this far. Especially not for answers. If anyone knew he was here, well, he’d lose his kingship. Going to a Priestess of Namo was hedonistic and heretical to Dwarves. But he didn’t know where else to turn. The priestess is bowed by the fire pit, casting her bones and chanting.

“Oh, child,” she said, standing and approaching him. “Such trouble you’ve gotten yourself into. This spirit…no worse spirit than that of a lover!”

“I said nothing about that.”

“Is in your eyes, Child,” the priestess said, a dark hand stroking his beard. Thorin fought the urge to push the priestess away. “The eyes tell all.”

“Why is he back? He’s dead.”

“Just because someone is dead does not mean they leave right away. What do you see when you walk in your land, Thorin Oakenshield?”

He sighed. What did he see? He didn’t _see anything_. The others saw. He only felt. He only heard.

“I don’t see anything,” he said. “Sometimes I would walk down the hall alone, and the torches would flicker more than usual though there is no wind. The room would chill to the bone and I can see my breath, but it’s the middle of summer. Sometimes I hear rats, but found not even a mouse. My nephews are the ones who see and the life of three of our companions has already been lost. Five have gone missing.”

“Who?”

Thorin swallowed. He didn’t want to recall the image of Bofur’s body lying at the bottom of the staircase, head twisted completely around, twitching, hat askew. Finding Dori hung in his room, neck broken and tongue lagging, eyes bulging…The third had been Dwalin—impaled.

The first disappearance had been Bombur. Then Gloin had disappeared, his wife and son frantic with worry over what could have happened. Bifur had been next to vanish. After that was Balin.

The worst had been Fili. After that, Thorin had sent the others away, hoping sending them to the Iron Hills would keep them safe for a small time. He lost one nephew, he would not lose the other if he could help it.

All this he told her. The priestess clicked her tongue.

“What did you do have such an angry spirit haunt you?”

“I meant to marry him. And we would have been married by now…if not for the gold-sickness. It took me after we reclaimed my home again. He gave a family heirloom to my enemies in exchange for peace and…I lost my temper and I threw him down.”

“You murdered your own lover?”

Thorin nodded. The priestess clicked her tongue again. “This spirit is angry with you and perhaps rightfully so. You stole his life after he gave you his heart.”

“He is working to destroy everything I have left.”

“Of course he is!” She leaned closer. “He is punishing you, Thorin Oakenshield. All your friends and all your family will die before he claims your life. He wants revenge on you for you hurt him greatly. He will not stop until you know his pain.”

“I can’t let that happen. If he wanted to punish me, he ought to do so outright! Not steal the lives of our companions! They’re innocent in this!”

The priestess cocked her head to the side. “Are they?”

“They didn’t do anything.”

“Not even try to stop you?”

Thorin relaxed his face. No one had tried to stop him. No one had stayed his hand or his words. Not once since they began the journey from Bag End onward.

“They are not innocent,” the priestess continued. “They and you are at the mercy of a very powerful, very angry spirit.”

“I just want it to end. How do I stop him?”

“Salt and burn his bones.”

Thorin blinked. “What?”

“Salt represents purity. Spirit entities and demons are repelled by salt and iron. Burning his bones after purifying them with salt will make him move on. It is forceful and painful, but it is the quickest way.”

“So I have to kill him again?”

“Yes.”

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then come back, if you still live after that one attempt.”

“Say he attacks me while doing so—”

“He cannot cross an unbroken line of salt. Draw a circle with the salt around you and his grave bed and pray he’s not powerful enough to break it.”

#

His return to the mountain was solemn. His people rejoiced, but he could not. Thorin stayed outside by Bilbo’s tomb while the soldiers unearthed him, removing the slabs of stone. They gave him curious and doubtful looks, but Thorin ignored them, taking a torch from one of the guards. He sent them away and drew a circle around him and the tomb. One the circle was complete, he poured salt over Bilbo’s corpse.

“What are you doing?”

Thorin looked up. His hands shook and the chills crawled up his spine.

Bilbo did not look different from when he lived. Save for a few things. His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin so pale, almost blue. On the side of his head was mat of bloody hair.

“Don’t do this, Thorin.”

“I wish to Mahal I didn’t have to.”

He lifted the torch in his hands and moved to drop it in the tomb, but a great gust of wind nearly toppled him. The torch blew out and the circle broke. Thorin tripped, looking around for the bags of salt he had purchased on his way home. His throat was seized by small, cold, and strong hands.

“You killed me.”

 _I’m sorry_ , he tried to say.

“You said you loved me.”

_I do love you—please—_

His vision blurred. Everything was cold. Thorin tried to pry off Bilbo’s hands, but there was little he could do against a ghost.

Then he saw red. He heard a scream. The hold on his throat eased and when he opened his eyes, Gandalf stood in front of him, leaning on his staff.

“You’re lucky I got here when I did! Would you like to tell me what in the name of creation you were thinking going up against a spirit on your own with no knowledge how to best defend yourself against one?”

Thorin opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He turned away, eyes closed.

“How many times am I going to have to kill him until God is satisfied?”

Gandalf’s gaze softened, the fire casting eerie glows on the rocks and on flesh. “This was the last,” Gandalf promised. “You will not see him again until the very end of your own life. And then there will be much to account for, Thorin Oakenshield.”

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, I didn’t want to go with such a crappy ending! Why? Why is it so hard for me to write sad endings?


End file.
